From A Book
by CretianStar
Summary: Based off Ruth Smythers advice to young brides in 1894. Sherlolly fluff!


A/N: Okay I got this book as a little joke book on the internet, Ruth Smythers, wife of a Reverend, so I think her views might be somewhat biased, especially as she alludes to oral sex. I just hope dear Rev Smythers wasn't a randy man and liked his wife propriety! Or she was frustrated as hell and was determined to make other young women the same!

Either way, I have used this (which you can google, marriage tips 1894) as the basis for this little Victorian Sherlolly!

ENJOY! (All mistakes are my own, and if it's a little clunky, please do review to tell me this, I have written on and off).

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><p>To say Molly was nervous was an understatement. It was the day before her arranged marriage. She knew his name and had received his portrait from a messenger that had met them on the return journey from India.<p>

Her journey back from India had involved a great deal of fussing from her mother and an awkward silence between father and daughter. It was as if Lord Hooper had forgotten his daughter was of a marriageable age and that India had given him back his little girl. The little girl that walked the Ganges with him, discussing the variants in religion before heading home and delving into a heady debate on the sciences of life.

Her mother was also somewhat liberal. There had been Mothers that forced their daughters into corsets in the heat of India, parading them like well-bred horses in front of the commissioned officers and they were shocked when their daughters fainted. No, Lady Hooper had not done that. She had allowed her daughter freeing fabrics during downtime and the loosest stays possible when they were forced to mingle in society.

It had seemed that the marriage prospects for Lady Molly Hooper were remote at best and that she would be an aged spinster learning about leaves. No-one in their societal circle had expected the Hoopers to leave so suddenly for their daughter to be married off back in England. It annoyed many women who had yet to marry their daughters to a wealthy man. Many of these women had soothed their despondent charges that at least they would be married off before mad Molly Hooper. This was no longer the case.

Now Molly had set her feet firmly back on terra firma in the home of the great empire and she was terrified. It took two weeks for the rest of the trunks to be bought back to their English home. Molly had barely remembered it existed but as she nosed and investigated her way around the modest mansion memories from her seven year old self flooded back. Particularly the winding banisters. She definitely remembered those.

Her cases were now stacked in a bedroom that was still vaguely musty and she stared forlornly at her handwritten journals on her Indian life. The homesickness was hitting her hard. It was May and India would normally be sweltering, instead England was wild in its weather. The first day she had arrived it had been mild with blue skies and fluffy clouds, the poems she had read about England when her memories failed her. The next day had been torrential rain that turned the roads to mud and left them stuck halfway to Wildway House.

Even now Molly stood, wrapped in a shawl and missing the humidity that she had grown up with, instead she watched the drizzle drip down the window pane as she held her notes on the native people of her Indian home. She supposed her new husband as an English gentleman would not appreciate an intellect and would prefer her to be subdued and meek.

Just like her cousin Hortence. She was the picture of an English lady, pale, demure and quiet. She had come to stay before the wedding and it was Hortence that interrupted Molly's musings to bring a solemn gift.

"Now I know I am matron of honour at your wedding Molly." Her cousin was three years older but had been married for five and was well versed in all things domestic. Thankfully her squalling brats had not followed her up the stairs. "So it is my duty to impart knowledge for your domestic life. You must serve your husband and then he will offer his protection back. I bring you books, though I would normally recommend against such a learned woman, however these books should be of great use to you." Inwardly Molly groaned, if Hortence thought them useful, it meant they were as dull as ditch water. The parcel as neatly tied in brown paper and string and Hortence lowered her head. "One of them you must read somewhere private, do not let anyone find the smaller book. It has been a saviour to me since I married Hubert though and I have followed her word to the letter!" A cry drew Hortence back and she left with a rustle of fabric.

Now Molly's curiosity was piqued and hesitantly she stepped towards the pile of books. Unwrapping them delicately the first two Molly discarded; Mrs Beeton's cook book and a guide to being a good wife but the third was a small nondescript book that had no title just an author. Ruth Smythers. Molly almost dropped the book in shock when she thumbed open the pages; it was about sex.

Molly was not as morally delicate as some women of her class as her parents had instilled in her the science of the time but as she read further she realised this was a book condemning sexual desires.

"Most men are by nature rather perverted, and if given half a chance, would engage in quite a variety of the most revolting practices" Holy Cow, like what? Molly's mind thought furiously as she recalled the anatomy books found in the library of their home in India.

"Mouthing the female body and offering their own vile bodies to be mouthed in return." This time Molly did drop the book and blushed a beautiful shade of red. Stuffing it amongst her petticoats Molly left her room in a flood of mortification.

Molly didn't think on the text another minute as cousins, young and old flapped around her the next day, a wash of white fabric tugged this way and that, last minute alterations pinning and catching her skin. Her complaints fell on deaf ears as she was finally deemed presentable in her white gown and she was left with her mother who was anxiously smoothing the satin.

"You'll be fine sweetheart." Her mother seemed to sense her own tension.

"Hortence…" Molly began the sentence without wishing to divulge what her cousin had given her.

"You ignore whatever advice she gives you." Her mother said firmly. "She's a prude with a different idea of what a wife is. You have to find your own feet. My sister is nothing like her eldest daughter and you know that your father and I love one another deeply. Not every marriage is the way it's preached in church." Her mother tucked one errant curl beneath the bridal headpiece and Molly smiled wanly.

"I don't know Sherlock though. All I've seen is a picture, we've never written to one another." Molly stammered, looking lost and tearing at her mother's heartstrings.

"That is utterly my fault my dear one. Both your father and I thought we could keep you our little girl for as long as possible, which is why we went to India. We never expected to stay for so long." Her mother smiled softly. "Sherlock is a good man Molly. A couple of years your senior, he is strong willed with a thirst for learning. I am told by his mother that he would rather be studying the biology of something or other rather than having to get married." Her attempt at a joke worried Molly more.

"He does not want a wife? I'll be a nuisance." She almost wailed.

"No you will not." There was a sternness that Molly seldom heard in her mother's tone. "There is no alliance or need for money, it is not about the dowry or anything so political. Honestly Edith Holmes and I have been friends for some time and we knew both of our children needed something a little different when it came to a spouse. You were both such independent children, never falling in the norm and we liked that. Though we both worried about your futures." Eleanor Hooper sat on the chaise and stared out of the window while her daughter watched her.

"We decided then and there that you would probably be the safest option for one another. But you will see what I mean when you meet Sherlock properly. I doubt you remember him as a little boy." Molly shook her head and her mother smiled fondly.

"Thank you." Molly said suddenly and the pair enveloped one another in a hug that meant so much more than any words.

"Relax my little angel." She heard her mother choke out before they composed themselves once more. There was a knock and her father joined the hugs, not at all put off by the bright eyes of unshed tears. He even hugged his little girl harder than Eleanor had.

Molly looked through the thin gauze at the man stood at the altar. He was much taller than she imagined; she barely came up to his shoulders and he looked almost sullen as she stepped beside him, handed over to him by her well restrained father. There was little emotion on his face as the vows were uttered, though Molly could scarcely remember breathing, let alone any of the ceremony. The feast also passed in a blur until Hortence offered up one final whispered piece of advice.

"Lie back and think of England." She air kissed her cheek and left Molly's stomach roiling in apprehension.

The coach ride to the small house they would use as the first night of the honeymoon before travelling onto Devon was silent. Molly didn't know what to say so she kept quiet. It was only as he helped her down that the first words since their vows were uttered.

"Can you not speak?" His rich baritone made her jump and he almost sneered in response. "Typical, I have a mouse for a wife." He dropped her hand as the coachman unloaded the small bags that held clothes for today and tomorrow.

"I can speak." Molly picked up her own leather case before lifting her skirt against a puddle.

"I suppose that is something." He unlocks the door and neither care for the tradition of carrying her across the threshold.

"This is very pretty." Molly acknowledges. "Simple but well furnished. Lacking a woman's touch so it is not your mothers." She deposits her hat on the stand. "No serving staff either."

"My mother thought it prudent not to, so we could get to know one another." Sherlock said stiffly, his eyes tracing her as she shrugs out of her coat. She stills at his words and then turns around brightly.

"I hope you are adept at cooking then Mr Holmes." She nods to the door. "Do you mind if I look around?"

"What's mine is yours." His voice between gritted teeth. His mother warned him best behaviour and Edith Holmes was a formidable woman.

"Oh good, then we can share this library of a sitting room." Sherlock did not expect that reaction to all of his readings. "Oh some are journals, I will not read those." She hastily puts a book back on the shelf and skims towards embossed spines.

"They are mere scribblings on life cycles and flora and fauna in this area." He has taken off his own coat.

"You spend a lot of time here." Sherlock cannot help but notice Molly's eyes are shining at the books surrounding her. "You must to study the life cycles of plants."

"You also study?" Sherlock watched the passion in her eyes switch to anxiousness.

"I do I mean I did. Now I am married I will turn my mind to more suitable activities." She worries her lip and bends her head in deference.

"Why would you do such a thing?" Sherlock raises an eyebrow and for the first time Molly studies her new husband. His long lean frame is stood in the window, blocking out late afternoon sunshine. His dark curls are somewhat of a mess from where he had unconsciously played with his hair the entire carriage ride.

"It's expected." She shrugs.

"I do not want what is expected for a wife." He said abruptly and moves towards the door. "I think I will try to fathom if mother dismissed the cook and we may have to fend for ourselves in regards to dinner." He strode from the room but paused and turned back to his new bride. Summoning a smile he nodded towards the armchair. "Sit, read. I'll be back soon."

Molly decided she could obey this demand and selected a book that caught her eye from the beginning, she wondered if her reading of the decaying of corpses would be to her new husband's satisfaction. He really was a quirky man.

Sherlock came back about half an hour later to see her sat on the edge of the armchair, absorbed in her book.

"It would appear that Mrs Bells has been sent home this weekend." He said grumpily. "The larder is stocked."

"I guess this is where the wife comes in." Molly muttered under her breath, memorising her page and dusting off her dress. "I suppose I should change." She said thoughtfully. "I'm not used to this wife thing."

"I doubt that highly. Especially as you have been abroad for much of your life, you do not have the usual English complexion, you are somewhat tanned and I would hazard that you have spent much of your time in India." Sherlock stated then stopped himself.

"Well seen." Molly said drily. "I am also only used to cooking Indian food, you may have to help me if that is not beneath you." Molly was unsure of where her burst of courage came from but she thanked God it had. He didn't look angry at her words merely curious and nodded.

"We can work this out together."

"I believe my cousin gave me a book on cooking, Mrs Beetons. I doubt that it's in your library but it is amongst my belongings, please would fetch it for me?" Molly found her way towards the kitchen. She might as well attempt to take some authority in her household, even if it is very brief. She stared critically at the larder and furiously attempted to remember her mother's advice about English cooking.

Sherlock did not come back. It got the stage that Molly had what looked like the necessary utensils out and he had not returned.

"Sherlock?" She called from the kitchen. "I only bought one bag, the book cannot be that hard to find." She stumbled her way through the corridors until she found the hallway and her new husband reading a book.

Not just any book.

Hortense's book.

She blushed to the roots of her hair.

"Sherlock…I?" She stammered and when he looked up she was confused to see him smiling.

"This is an interesting little piece of advice. But this woman is somewhat dull." He stood up languidly. "It's okay for a young woman to be nervous on her wedding night, but this woman paints all men to be dark characters. I am not most men, I would never treat you as she has described here."

"You wouldn't?" Molly's mind, filled with the horrors told behind the girls in India, the scandals that took an age to reach them from London, Paris, Venice, each tiny tale had painted marriage into a horrifying prospect, finished by Hortence's 'help'.

"Of course not Molly! I want my wife to be clever and wonderful, who isn't afraid of me." He smiled at her for the first time, there was no stiffness in his body and Molly genuinely smiled back at him.

"Then bring my bag, we still need dinner and I am famished." Molly felt her smile turn to the impish side and watched her new husband's face change.

"Then we have a lot to learn about one another." Sherlock said with a nod, his eyes distant.

"We do. But dinner first?" Molly was questioning now, but rewarded with another smile.

"We can learn it from Mrs Beeton herself!" He brandished the second book and the pair headed towards the kitchen, shy and unsure of one another, but hoping the excuse of making dinner would help allay those nerves.

It did.

Molly later realised that as she curled into Sherlock's arms. They had not quite consummated their marriage but she was feeling incredibly breathless all the same. She giggled softly, listening to her husband's soft snores, realising there was still a lot more to learn and not all of it could be gleaned from a book.


End file.
